My family causes 99% of my headaches. Some days I feel like they’ve had a secret meeting to see how crazy they can make me behave. Then when I act crazy, they make fun of me and laugh. It’s like I’m their private sideshow. I try hard not to let them get under my skin, but it rarely works. Yesterday as John was leaving for school he told me he needed to stay after for about 45 minutes and asked if I would pick him up. I agreed. An hour before school got out I texted Taryn to let her know I was picking up her brother and if she didn’t mind waiting I could pick her up too. She texted back that she would wait. I ran a couple of errands then headed toward the school. At a stop light I heard my Facebook Messenger chirp and saw a message from John that said, “I don’t have a key and I’m locked out of the house.” Followed almost immediately by one that said, “are you going to be home soon?”

Um, no jerkface. I’m on my way to pick you up. At school, where you asked me to pick you up. I just answered “yes” and went to get Taryn. When we got home I asked him why he didn’t text me to tell me he didn’t need a ride. (They don’t have internet phones, he messaged me using the wi-fi on his iPod once he was within range of our house.) He said, “Oh, I left my phone at home. Sometimes I don’t have service at school, so I stopped taking it.”

See why I have headaches all the time?

The other night I asked Jackson to pick up the plastic dinosaurs that were scattered all over the stairs. Our house is split-level, he enjoys standing against the half-wall on the upper level and throwing things onto the steps that go upstairs. He complied with my request, I was pretty amazed that he did it without complaint. Until I went down the other set of stairs to the lower lever and found this…

I guess I need to be more clear, “Please pick up the dinosaurs on the steps, carry them to your bedroom, and place them in the toy box before you make the vein in Mommy’s head pop out.”

It might seem like I’m being particularly hard on my children, but my headaches aren’t always caused by them. Sometimes my husband is to blame. He has a terrible habit of leaving his bottle caps on the counter.

I know this seems like a small thing. It shouldn’t bother me. But when you look at the bigger picture you see how truly annoying this is…

I measured and it is 4 feet from that counter to the trash can. Given that he was not actually standing on the counter it was probably the same distance for him to throw the cap away as it was to throw it on the counter. Who does that? (I realize the time and effort it took for me to shoot these photos and measure the distance is much longer than it would have taken to just throw the cap away. Neither here nor there.)

I realize there is no magic cure for family induced headaches. I just want you all to know that when I say I have a headache, it’s not because I drank too much wine.

Last week I hugged Jackson and he yelled, “Mom! You’re choking me with your privates!” He meant my hoots. I’d never thought of breasts as “privates” but I figured if that’s what he wanted to call them, that was fine. I try to teach the kids the anatomically correct names for body parts, but I don’t stress out about it. If privates works for him – then privates it is. And for the record, I was not actually choking him with my “privates” he’s just crazy.

A few days later I was cleaning out my dresser. As our move gets closer my piles of stuff to get rid of are slowly taking over the basement. I love moving because I hate clutter, every change of station is a chance to purge – it’s awesome. I had emptied out a drawer of underthings and bathing suits on the floor. Reese picked up a pair of bikini bottoms and said, “what are these?” I told him they were the bottom part of  a bathing suit and the top was somewhere in the pile. Reese said, “so there’s a part that covers up your things on top?” He pointed to his chest. I told him they were called breasts and that yes, that was what the other part covered up. He asked if it was ok to use the word “boobs” I told him it was ok, but saying breasts was nicer. I call them boobs or hoots, but he’s six – breasts is nicer coming from him.

Either privates or breasts, I guess that works. I didn’t give their anatomical vocabulary any more thought. They know all they need to know.

However, a day later I had to rethink that assessment. Reese brought home a picture of a skeleton and I pointed out different parts showing him the skull, ribs, and other bones. He pointed to his crotch and said, “where’s this part?”

I said, “that part isn’t on here, this is just bones.”

“What about the bone that’s in it?”

“There’s no bone in it, it’s just muscle.”

“My wiener.”

“Yes, just muscle.”

“What about your part that’s not a wiener? I know what it’s called, it begins with an F.”

“An F?”

“Yes, it begins with an F. Am I…am I allowed to say it?”

“I’m not sure you’re calling it the right thing.”

“Yes, I am, I know it’s F-U…”

“Stop! Wait, it’s not called that.”

“FUDGEINA!”

I’ve decided just to teach them it’s called a flower.